


Back to Me

by butterflylovers



Category: Of Mice & Men (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:03:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflylovers/pseuds/butterflylovers
Summary: Fate works in mysterious ways. Despite the things Austin has done, it always seems that his love comes back to him.Title and description credit: Back to Me by Of Mice and Men. Trigger Warning: Slight mentions of suicide, nothing graphic.





	Back to Me

Dearest Hannah,

  
  
As you read this letter, you might think of us as strangers. Maybe not even that, you could consider us acquaintances at the moment since I’ve been assigned as your mentor. I’d like to think it’s the work of fate. Anyway, this letter isn’t about how much I look forward to mentoring you and working with you, although I do look forward to it all. This is about the truth, something that I’ve waited almost a century and a half to tell you finally.  
  
You might think that today was the first time we’ve ever met, that we’ve ever spoken. My dearest Hannah, that is when you are wrong. We go back a long way. About one hundred and forty-four years back, to be exact. I remember the day; it was my twenty-sixth birthday. September twenty-seventh, the year was 1875. We met in the local pub that was near the home I grew up in my in my teen years. I was unemployed, waiting for a letter back from an estate. The message would be an invitation to meet the head of the household; I had applied to be a footman. I remember as I waited for another round of beers and suddenly you walked in.  
  
I remember being so stunned. I remember standing there in awe. You were a real-life angel in the flesh. You shined brighter than the stars in the night sky. Hell, I thought maybe one of the stars crashed into Earth and possessed itself as a beautiful woman. Your soft, carob hair was hidden in your bonnet, but one strand peaked out, caressing your porcelain skin. You had a faint blush the color of honey blossoms. Your brown eyes glimmered in the moonlight. I was like a moth drawn to a flame the more I caught myself looking into the pools of brown in your eyes. Someone such as myself, a commoner, could not believe a divine being such as yourself would ever grace us with your presence in such a cheap pub. This pub was home to drunks, low lives, prostitutes, and cheap beer. You were none of those things. You looked like a queen.  
  
That night, I had offered you a drink. I was desperate to know why such a beauty would ever set foot in a place like this. Surely there had to be a reason. After a drink, you confessed that you snuck out for the night to see what it was like in the nightlife for us commoners. You were of noble status; you were tired of balls and dinner parties. You were of that age, where it was time for you to be already wed to a man and bare his children. Although it was tradition, you believed that you were more than that. My darling, I couldn’t have agreed more. It was strange that we seemed to connect instantly. I never had such a connection before; it was foreign being able to talk with someone without ever feeling disinterested. It was foreign never feeling tired of hearing what someone had to say, even if it was simple small talk. Somehow, it felt like every single word that left your plump pink lips mattered. Well, it did matter. To me at least.  
  
By the end of your night, I made sure you got to your carriage safe, and I watched you ride off into the sunset. Cliche, I know, but that’s how it went. It was wild to me that we were up together so late. I didn’t expect to walk into the pub to meet a dame like you, but I’m glad I did. I didn’t catch your name, because you were too shy to tell me and I didn’t want to intrude. I thought about you after that night. I found myself thinking about our conversations and the way you seemed to be interested in every little thing I said. And I found myself missing your sparkling, brown eyes.  
  
Days after our encounter, I got a letter from the Ashford estate asking for me to visit their manor the next day around eight in the morning. That day, I was officially hired as both a butler and the footman. I was surprised to see you in your father’s study when I brought him his afternoon tea. I saw your brown locks resting on your shoulders, velvety and pure as the driven snow. Your long eyelashes fluttering open as our eyes met. When I served you that warm cup of Lapsang souchong, a strand of your hair fell out. I had to resist the urge to take my gloved hand and tuck your hair behind your ear. As you gave me your thanks, my heart fluttered as I heard your soft angelic voice. Every word you spoke were like symphonies to my ears.  
  
For nearly a year, my dove, we kept our relationship a secret. Only God was our witness in our rendezvous. Only he knew what went on behind closed doors during late nights. Only God was able to hear me call out for you.  _Felicity Ashmore._  The first time I fell in love with you, that was how you went by. It was fit for my princess, the gatekeeper of my heart.  
  
It pained me when you were to marry Lord Edgar Brewer. He had the things that I wanted — a good home, wealth, status, and soon, your hand in marriage. Oh how I wish I could have stopped it all from happening, you knew that. You knew how much it pained me, watching him caress your face as I did — watching him plant kisses on your soft skin and watching him woo you with flowers. I wanted to show you off just like him. I wanted to show the entire country how fortunate I was to have a beautiful girl, that not even the rarest of flowers could ever compare to her beauty. I yearned for the day I could court you and take care of you until the very end. But I couldn’t. I had to watch you marry him and watch you leave the manor to start a family of your own with him. As much as you and I didn’t want that, there was no possibility of an “us” ever coming true. It would be too much of a scandal if word got out that a noblewoman such as yourself were having relations with a mere servant such as myself.  
  
If I had to die, I would have been killed by heartache just like Lady Montague in Shakespeare’s  _Romeo and Juliet_. But I didn’t, I died from what people call “selfish desires.” I had taken my own life because I could not bear the idea of living a life without you, the only good thing to happen to me after the loss of my parents. At the time, it made sense to me. I was living in a world of agony, despite playing the act that everything was perfectly fine. At the time, I felt some sort of regret. It was mostly anger as I realized that I was still “living” and I would forever watch you spend your days with that man that was now your husband. Maybe not as a servant anymore, but as a Grim Reaper.  
  
You see, when a person dies naturally or of some strange occurrence, their souls get collected. But what happens to those who take their own life away? They become Grim Reapers, beings who stand neutral between God and humans. We are worked to the bone, forced to be a captive audience of the deaths of man, day in and day out as a punishment until we are forgiven. We collect the souls of those to die, watch the cinematic records of their lives, and determine whether or not their time is up or if they are worthy of living once more.  
  
Before training, one of the things we were forced to do was attend our funerals. As Grim Reapers, humans cannot see us, unless we decide to show ourselves. Watching my burial was difficult, as I observed my close friends and remaining family mourn for me. But it pained me watching you, crying on my coffin and begging for forgiveness for the pain you caused. My dove, I can only ask you to forgive me for putting you through such turmoil; watching you mourn me and weeping for another chance to have me again, it was a pain far more unbearable than the day I watched you leave.  
  
Little did you know though. I had watched you from a distance when I had the free time, making sure to protect you. I knew the day would come when you were to part from this world and that we would never see each other again. It was a haunting reality, but it was one I had to accept. When the day came, I was haunted as I saw your name on the to-do list. June sixteenth, 1938. Cause of death: old age. There was nothing I could do to prevent such a thing; there was no use in saving your soul. It was just your time, my dear. But you lived a good life. You had a beautiful family with beautiful grandchildren. You continued to spread happiness with everyone you’ve ever met. I was honored to witness those beautiful moments in your life.  
  
Collecting souls is something that isn’t ever easy, but it gets easier the more you do it. But retrieving your soul was something I felt I was unable to do, it pained me watching your cinematic record. Watching us when we first met in that pub on my birthday, watching us practice the Viennese Waltz in your bedroom late at night, watching us talk for hours in my bedroom. For years as I watched you age with your family, I thought I would be a forgotten memory. I underestimated you, forgive me, my love. You continued to keep the memory of me, of us, alive; even going as far as to name your first born son after me, to the dismay of your husband. Teaching your children the importance of the waltz, using the tips I had given you long before.  
  
After your death, I was transferred from the London branch to the New York branch. It had been years since I was in America and it pained me to leave your family, but it was something I could not voice my opinion on. But I still had something to keep you in my heart, the locket you gave me.  
  
Time had passed by, and I was slowly, but surely, healing from the wounds of heartache. Reaping souls and overtime had been a painfully dull distraction. I was praying for the day for when the Higher Ups would let me finish work, but there were other grim reapers who had been doing the job for more than a century. I feared to be like them, becoming slaves for God for eternity. Us Grim Reapers are immortal creatures, another punishment for committing our deeds. I didn’t even qualify for retirement. It seemed I was forever stuck watching the lives and deaths of humans in a kaleidoscope for all of eternity.  
  
The Swinging Sixties came along and became one of my favorite time period that I got to experience. It arose a subculture that I became drawn to. That was how I met you again, but you went by Jacqueline Thompson. I didn’t believe in reincarnation, especially with an occupation like mine. It never occurred to me that souls could be recycled and prosper once more until we were reunited. The year was 1965, a time of protest. I was standing above a building of a college campus, watching it all unfold. Not only was it a time of social protest but also of social liberation. Suddenly people were doing drugs, partaking in the sexual revolution and defying the conservative norms that were set in place. In a way, it was glorious; it was anything I had ever seen in all of my years of living. However, their recklessness meant more work for someone such as myself. Dying of illegal abortions and overdosing on drugs.  
  
I was waiting for the target to meet their end finally. He was going to die by stab wounds during a drug deal. He was partaking in a protest, where he was set to meet his client. He was looking for the client besides you, making small talk. I remember being bewildered as my eyes caught sight of you. I could not believe after all these years; you were here in the flesh. There was something different about the way you looked too. Your brown hair was a shade darker; it resembled umber. It was slightly shorter than it was the first time we met, but it still framed your face perfectly. You wore a beige with tan stripes crochet dress with black and tan Oxford shoe. Your pale and tender legs were exposed, I couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to my cheeks. Back when we first met, in that era, it was considered indecent and unladylike to show your legs. I was so used to seeing your stems hidden away that it was bewildering to see them exposed in their glory.  
  
I felt immediate regret when I didn’t try to look for you after I collected that man’s soul. But I soon found you in another protest, where a woman was going to meet her end as well. There was a flame within me that urged me to come to you, and when I did, a wildfire spread in my heart. You were still that doe-eyed girl, yet much more evolved. There was something about your aura that was more radiating then who you once were, but I was drawn in as always. You were more passionate as you included yourself in the counterculture. The movements, the social revolution, the second wave feminism, you were ardent about being apart of the change. Felicity would have been drawn to that too but would have been too afraid to break out on her own. Jacqueline was more free-spirited, she was the embodiment of the things Felicity aspired to be.  
  
Rekindling our romance was everything I never expected it to be. You made me feel alive in ways I never was when I was human. As I took an interest in the subcultures you were drawn to, it brought us together. You exposed me to things I would have never batted an eye at. Although if I had to be honest, I only did so because I could not ignore the way you spoke about these things. If they mattered to you, they mattered to me. Partaking in these activities, such as your protests or the infamous Woodstock, brought us together again. It did break my heart when I had to collect the souls of your favorite artists though.  
  
Five years of you was something I didn’t expect. The first time we were together, our time seemed so short. I was sad when the Higher Ups had found out about us. At first, I was forced to submit a handwritten apology for breaking the rules. I was wrong to assume that since it was my first offense and I’ve done a good job of obeying the rules, that it wouldn’t hurt to see you again. I was greatly mistaken. I was put on suspension, and I was temporarily switched from the Retrieval Division to the Forensics Division. That meant that I wouldn’t be able to go to the human realm and see you. I often wondered those few months if you had missed me. If you had wondered where I had gone off to. It pained me not seeing you when I finally had you in my arms again.  
  
October twenty-seventh, 1970, I was transferred back into the Retrieval Division of the Grim Reaper Dispatch. It seemed my manager at the time knew where I was off to as soon as I was ready to hit the field. He silently gave me a book, that I immediately recognized as a book of someone’s cinematic record. What I had in my hands was literally the story of someone’s life. I skimmed through the story, quickly realizing this was your story.  _Jacqueline’s story._  You died from a car accident on the way to Mexico; you were going to get an illegal abortion. You had realized that you were pregnant a few weeks after my transfer. When there was no word of my whereabouts, you decided to get an abortion. You refused to raise the baby on your own; you refused to be alone with the baby. You wanted me there with you, because I had promised to be there with you until the very end. But here I was, failing you without even knowing.  
  
I lived my years in regret. I had broken my vow to you, my love. I failed you as a lover; I failed to protect you as a man. I failed to be there as yours truly and for our unborn child. Time went by, and I thought that maybe it was best. How could we be together until the end? It would have difficult for me to watch you age away, growing weaker and weaker through my fingertips while I never age as seconds go by. Watching our children grow old and watch them be buried alongside you. The idea became more and more terrifying, the more the thought lingered in my mind. But as much as it scared me, the idea of not being with you frightened me more. There was an internal battle within me. Should I have followed my heart or should I let this idea of love go? Why did a being such as myself deserve love? All I did was capture the souls of ordinary and extraordinary people, keeping them away from living the rest of their lives because I deemed them not worthy and not beneficial to the world. Who was I to say that they weren’t beneficial?  
  
Who was I to say they were unworthy, when it was I was that was the unworthy one all along.  
  
I ached for the day when I could finally retire from this hellish job. To go out and discover myself, redeem the years I lost from endless soul collect and paperwork. To create memories, make friends, to finally feel human again.  
  
I didn’t think that I would feel human until you came along again many years later, the year was 1991. You were reincarnated again as Samantha Lewis. I had slowly forgotten what you looked like in the years of melancholy and tiresome work, but the sight of you had the memories rushing back into me. Your hair was much darker; your umber hair now like coal. It made your skin look more pale, like winter smile. But the waves of your hair made me lost in sea as my fingers sailed through each individual strand.  
  
Samantha reminded me a lot of Jacqueline but was reserved as Felicity. She had a passion for music like Jacqueline, but she was also drawn to the things that people wouldn’t admit out loud back in the day. She was drawn to supernatural beings like demons, angels, and even grim reapers.  
  
The first time we had met, it was unintentional. It was March fifteen, 1991; I was collecting the last soul of the shift. This woman was homeless, her cause of death being starvation and an overdose on crystal meth. I didn’t think anyone would notice me. I felt no sane being would walk into a dark alleyway alone in such late hours. But you weren’t just anybody, my love. You were aghast, watching me plunge my death scythe into her lifeless body. I was only doing a job, but you didn’t understand it at first. You couldn’t see her cinematic records as I could. All I did was jump onto the roof a building, making sure you didn’t have to see me finishing my work. I couldn't allow you to be my distraction when I was so close to finishing.  
  
It was an embarrassment for me. Not only that, it was a bit agitating since I made the mistake of allowing a human watch me collect a soul, now I had to submit an apology to headquarters. That meant more work for me and over time. When I was just about done with my work, you met up with me on the roof, to my surprise. It had turned out that it was the roof of your apartment building.  
  
You were so persistent, desperate to know who I was when I made the “vow” to stray away from you if we had ever crossed paths again. But your chestnut eyes gleamed at me, and it tugged my heartstrings to know that your soul missed me just as much as I had missed you. I only told you I was a grim reaper and I was collecting her soul, not murdering her. I was even more astonished when you had believed me, not that I was lying to you (I could never). You wanted to see me again, but I told you that I could not, that you wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t about the fact that it would interfere with my work, it was something more significant than that. I couldn’t allow myself to drown in the ecstasy of your presence. You were like a drug that I wanted to overdose on over and over again. Being with you, loving you, gave me a high no drug can ever do.  
  
Days after our first encounter, we had met in the rooftop of your apartment again. It was late at night, and I found you waiting for me to return. You were desperate to see me again, so you spent nights waiting for me to come back. You desired a conversation; you were fascinated by me. It was a bit heartwarming, to know that you didn’t see me as a vile being. I spent years after your second passing, convincing myself that I wasn’t worthy. But you assured me that I was. As always, I am forever grateful for you.  
  
The more time we spent, the more I was slowly giving you information about my occupation. You understood immediately that I couldn’t give away too much for it would earn a punishment. You wanted to know when and how you would die, but I couldn’t give you that information. It was against the rules to interfere with the matters of life and death in the human world. In reality, even I could tell you; I didn’t wish to know. I didn’t want to find myself counting the days until we parted.  
  
There’s was something about you as Samantha that was so refreshing. I wasn’t afraid to be myself, as a reaper. You were so quick to accept me, even though you knew that I collect souls for a living. I was so glad when I went against my vow of staying away for you. You just felt like home to me. My body, my soul (if I even had one) just felt so safe around you. I remember asking you if you felt the same way. There was no way in hell that it was only a one-sided feeling. Why else did fate keep bringing us back together? Why is it that whenever I wanted to forget you, you suddenly came back into my life? It was as if our mind, bodies, and soul were magnets, instantly connecting the moment we are within reach.  
  
The day you confessed to me that you too felt like we were meant to be together, that I felt so familiar to you despite not knowing you for very long, it like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. When you told me that, I felt that I had to inform you about your past lives. About Felicity, about Jacqueline, about the barricades in our relationships. All of it made sense to you, and you wanted nothing more than to stop the cycle of heartache I had been going through for more than a century. You are too kind, my dove. I felt so selfish, indulging in you. In some ways, I felt like I was stopping you from living your life. But you assured me that there was a reason why we keep meeting in such strange ways, and you believed that it was up to your soul to end the cycle so we could finally be together.  
  
Long ago, I desired a distraction from you when you first passed away. At that moment, you became a distraction for me. Between my shifts, as I was waiting for the humans to die, I spent time with you. The Higher Ups and my colleagues were not happy with this. They questioned why I always sought after you. What was it about you that I couldn’t resist? They didn’t understand the appeal, they claimed. But I believe those old bags were too buried in the work that they have long forgotten what it’s like to feel loved; to feel like you matter to somebody. To not feel like a horrendous monster all the time. It was if I was human again.  
  
The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized that all good things must come to an end. Your end came dreadfully. The year was 1993, and I was stuck with overtime yet again. It was my fault though; I had been too distracted with you the past three years. I gave myself a tremendous amount of paperwork that I was stuck completing in my cubicle. That was, until there was a word about a grim reaper in my division being suspended immediately for killing a human that was not on the to-do list. I remember being shocked, as all of the years I had been working as a grim reaper, such a thing never happened. I remember the astonishment, the feeling of my heart dropping in the pit of my stomach as I found out it was you.  
  
Oh, how I wanted nothing more than to hurt him. To give him a pain more unbearable than the one he gave me, a pain more horridous than the one you went through. He killed you because you had caught him reaping a soul on your way home from work. You immediately recognized him as a reaper, and you let your guard down, believing he would pose no threat. But you knew too much in his eyes, and he was a firm believer on “eliminating anything that gets in his way” from doing work. You were a victim of his ruthlessness. I’m so sorry that you died because of me, because I planted the idea that us monsters were harmless. I’m sorry that I planted that idea in my own head and believed that nothing terrible would happen to you if I allowed myself to get close to you again.  
  
I made another vow to myself, to stray far from you as possible. I didn’t want to bare the idea that I would hurt you again. I started to realize that it wasn’t your soul that was filled with misfortune, it was me. You were fine before I came into the picture. My own selfishness brought upon your deaths. Jacqueline would have never had that accident if it weren’t for me. Samantha wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for me. I didn’t want to stop you from living the rest of your life. I knew you were destined for greatness.  
  
The time I spent grieving you yet again made me think of some things. Why did I continuously seek you? Knowing that you would die the moment you were within arms reach? Why did I suddenly feel so loved around you? Better yet, why did it seem like I only sought after you because you made me feel that way? Did I miss feeling human and feeling alive? Why did I think about what I want, about how I felt? What about  _you_?  
  
That’s why when I saw, you, Hannah, I tried my best to avoid formally meeting you. I kept my distance, watching you every now and then, making sure you were living your best life like you were meant to. I thought that whatever God was out there was testing me to see if I would break another one of my sworn “vows” every time I saw you, but I stayed put; even if you looked even more captivating than what I remembered.  
  
Your hair was raven black, like the midnight sky. The stars were all kidnapped and held hostage in your eyes, as they sparkled whenever you were overjoyed (which seemed to be always). Your thin, pale frame was littered with tattoos everywhere in your body. The more I saw you; the more artwork was painted onto your body. Now it was to the point where I had long forgotten what your porcelain skin looked like bare. But you remained beautiful, fear not.  
  
You were a tattoo artist, passionate about change and art. After getting a divorce from your first husband, you felt like you had a weight lifted off your shoulders. Despite what you had done to him, you strived to better yourself and to better the world. You traveled the world, spreading an abundance of joy and your art everywhere you walked. You had the heart of gold.  
  
January, twenty-third, 2019. It was your twenty-sixth birthday. You were supposed to meet up with your mother and your close friends in the vegan restaurant you had wanted to go for some time. I was waiting for you to meet up with them, a soul I had to collect was nearby anyway. But inside, she got a call from the hospital. You had died committing suicide. Your landlord had found your body as he was growing concern when you were late paying your rent and your neighbors had not seen you around. You were always on time and you always greeted your neighbors and doorman. He took you to the hospital, hoping to save you. But it was too late, you were already dead.  
  
Us Grim Reapers can determine when and how humans die. However, suicide is something that we don’t ever expect. Seeing you again, right in front of me in the Grim Reapers Dispatch was like some sort of awakening for me. It felt like you had came back to me despite my attempts at leaving you behind. Why else would fate bring us back? Why else would I be assigned to be your mentor after you completed your training? Could it be the work of fate? Or could it be the fact that headquarters knows about my infatuation for you and they would love to see me squirm around you? Quite possibly, my dear.  
  
Writing this letter, reflecting back on my past has opened up my eyes. Yes, you were Felicity, Jacqueline, and Samantha. But that’s not who you are now. I've realized now, Hannah, that they are all three different people. The only similarity is the soul and heart. You’re not them anymore; you’re Hannah now. Your soul is aged like fine wine. Each sip I had of you was good, but the more I had over the years, the greater the taste. I don’t expect us to rekindle our romance, or for you to even believe me. But I want you to know, whenever my eyes meet your hazelnut colored ones, when you see the sparkle in my orbs, it’s because I’ve loved you. When I look into your eyes, I get that rush of adrenaline, and I’m taken back in time when you once loved me too.  
  
But if somehow, in some way, you fall in love with me like I did all those times, I hope you know that I will always be there. The end of your chapter, I hope, will start a new chapter for us if you return those feelings. And I will make a new vow, to protect you until the very end. Although I’ve failed my previous vows, things will be different now, only if you allow me. If you don’t return my affections, you know you always have a friend in me.  
  
Isn’t it sort of funny? We’re almost like butterfly lovers. Lovers who could not be together in the moment of life because of objections. But when death is upon us, we continue our love as butterflies, never to be separated ever again.  
  
I look forward to mentoring you soon, Hannah. Forgive me for addressing you with such familiarity despite us being acquaintances (although now we both know that isn’t true). Take care, and I look forward to you response.

  
  
Ever and eternally yours,

  
  
Austin Carlile

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I had been meaning to write an Austin Carlile/Hannah Snowdon fic for a while. Originally, this was going to be a fanfic with a totally different plotline. But I hated the plot and decided to change it and make this a one-shot!
> 
> A shout out to Black Butler, one of my favorite animes. A lot of the background information about Grim Reapers is heavily inspired by the manga since I am very drawn to how the manga portrays them.
> 
> Forgive me if some of the events that sort of (?) take place in the one-shot seem inaccurate. Some of the stuff that goes down in the Victorian era is inspired by the portrayal of the manga. The things that happened in the 60s, I was going off what I remembered in my senior year History class lol.


End file.
